A Hidden Story Told Through Stillness

MOVIE REVIEW
Ah-Ma Burns
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Genre: Comedy, Drama, Short
Year Released: 2025
Runtime: 13m
Director(s): Max Kane
Writer(s): Max Kane
Cast: Alice Lin, Jeff Chen, Joey Krulock, Brooke Gardner, Alex Snyder, Jens Josephs
Where to Watch: shown at the 2025 Directors' Notes Film Festival

RAVING REVIEW: There’s something powerful about a story that doesn’t rush to prove itself. This short lets its premise breathe, finding clarity through quiet moments and unspoken tension. What starts as a story about an older woman marking the anniversary of her husband’s passing evolves into a commentary on presence, change, and the aching human desire to matter. The film leans on performance, composition, and grounded emotion more than spectacle, which gives it a sense of weight—and also reveals some of its missed opportunities.

From the first shot, there’s an intentional stillness. The lead, Winnie, spends her days in emotional limbo. The confined visual style reflects her internal conflict, framing her behind doorways, windows, and narrow hallways. It’s a choice that locks us into her perspective without saying a word. That isolation, though heavy, isn’t hopeless. She’s invited to a gathering that feels like a spark—awkward at first, but promising. It’s not a party for drama or big reveals. Instead, it pivots from absence to presence, offering the character and the audience a rare moment of unexpected intimacy.

The dinner sets the stage for something that initially feels out of place—a communal ceremony involving something presented as a way to “let go.” There’s no buildup of suspense or exaggerated lead-in. Instead, the film plays it straight, letting the sincerity of the moment anchor the experience. This scene could’ve collapsed under its ambition, but it works because it is focused on Winnie, her breath, and her hesitation. The camera just watches. Her transformation doesn’t feel like a twist—it feels earned, like someone choosing to reclaim something buried beneath grief.

Alice Lin’s performance gives the entire story its depth. She doesn’t overplay the pain or lean into emotion. Her stillness holds just enough tension to communicate her feelings without saying them out loud. That sense of inner life makes the more symbolic elements feel grounded. When she begins to rise, there’s no confusion about what the moment means. It might not be clear where she’s going, but it’s obvious that she’s finally choosing herself.

The rest of the cast fills out the story without distracting from its focus, though not every performance lands with the same depth. The character of Joey, who leads the ceremony, offers the right energy but ends up feeling more like a narrative device than a fully realized person. That might be by design, but it’s still a missed chance to add to the experience. A subtle nod to his motivations or even a private doubt would’ve added a lot. Right now, he helps push the story forward, but not much emotional residue is left behind.

Another area that could’ve gone deeper is the relationship between Winnie and her grandson, David. Their initial interactions are chilly, and his indifference is clear. But the reconciliation that follows happens quickly and without much friction. A small, quiet gesture would’ve helped that emotional shift land with more impact. The story looks at their history but doesn’t give us much to hold onto.

What works about the film is its commitment to honesty. It never feels like it’s trying to manipulate the audience. Instead, it trusts its concept's strength and its performances' quiet humanity. The film doesn’t try to wrap everything up in a neat bow. It presents grief, regret, and hope as overlapping parts of the same experience, and allows the viewer to sit with the ambiguity.

The ending sticks. It doesn’t offer a clear answer but leaves you with the right question: Is this about escape or choosing to be seen? That open-ended moment is what gives the film its staying power. It refuses to define transformation, letting the audience carry the meaning after the credits roll.

This is a great example of how a personal story can reach an audience without explaining itself to death. It doesn’t spell everything out or rely on elaborate plotting. The strength lies in its restraint, focus on character, and willingness to let small moments carry the weight. It’s the kind of story that might not shake you immediately. Still, it lingers—just enough to make you reflect on what visibility means, especially for people society tends to overlook.

Ultimately, this film's best moments are quiet, intentional, and well-earned. It might leave a few threads untied and some characters underused, but its core message lands. The emotional resonance is there, and it speaks through the details, not declarations. For a short that doesn’t try to overextend its reach, that’s a respectable achievement.

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[photo courtesy of CRIMSON EDGE]

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